


get your kiss (you know you’re ready)

by aceofdiamonds



Category: Hart of Dixie
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 10:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12130332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofdiamonds/pseuds/aceofdiamonds
Summary: “What the hell kind of name is Wade?” Thirteen year old Zoe says, glaring at her ribs in the mirror. The area around the newly scrawled name stings -- she presses her nail into the messy curves of the W, scowls. “Doctors don’t get called Wade.”





	get your kiss (you know you’re ready)

**Author's Note:**

> one of my favourite things about watching this show all in one week has been the constant country music playing in my head. it’s filling me with joy, honestly, so yes, the title is from a country song, as it is meant to be: live a little by dean alexander.

 

  


Turning thirteen means puberty. It means boobs, messy fights with your friends, bitter fights with your mom, terrifying experiences at school with new subjects and new hormones. It also, for a number of the population, means finding out the person you’re destined to be with for the rest of your life. It’s not something that’s set in stone, of course, humans do have free will after all, and it’s not something everyone gets, only those for which it’s truly thought to be, so please, don’t base your life around finding the one the universe deigned to call your One True Love. But, if you happen to end up in the same tiny town as them, well, maybe don’t act like it’s nothing. The universe generally has a reason for doing what it does, however unclear that may be to thirteen year old aspiring heart surgeons.

  


.

  


Zoe Hart’s mom and dad divorce when she’s nine. It’s not a huge deal, a few of her friend’s parents aren’t together anymore, but there’s always been a tiny part of Zoe that liked the fact that her surname is Hart and her family is together.

“And you’ve definitely checked all over your bodies that you don’t have each other names on you?” she says, tiny and serious when they explain what’s going to be changing. “Because they have these machines at the hospital, don’t they, Dad, that can even check if your soul mate’s name is on an organ so maybe you should do that before you sign any divorce papers.”

“Zoe, honey, what have I said about soulmates? There’s no rhyme or reason to them, they don’t have any bearing on who we choose to be with, we make our own luck and our own love,” which is really kind of heavy for a somewhat romantic at heart nine year old, but okay, this is science and logic, so it has to be right.

  


.

  


“What the hell kind of name is _Wade_?” Thirteen year old Zoe says, glaring at her ribs in the mirror. The area around the newly scrawled name stings -- she presses her nail into the messy curves of the W, scowls. “Doctors don’t get called _Wade_.”

“So you’ll marry a non-doctor,” her best friend Lucy says, head dangling off the back of Zoe’s bed and looking way too disinterested in this disgusting turn of events. “They do exist, you know.”

“That’s not in the plan, Lucy.”

“As if you’re going to leave your life in the hands of the stars,” Lucy points out which is very true.

Zoe roots around in her dresser for a band-aid which she carefully places on top of the tiny little name that has rocked her very stable world. She pats it in place, smoothing down the edges, and then she spins, flops on the bed. Who needs a soulmate, right? She’s going to be a _doctor_.

  


.

  


(1200 miles away: “Hey, Tucker, do you know any chicks called Zoe?”  

“No, why?”

Wade shrugs, shifts his boxers back over the name that’s appeared on his hip overnight. It’s just a name, it’s not going to dictate anything about his life.)

  


.

  


So Zoe forgets all about whoever Wade is and flies through her classes all the way to medical school, Zach by her side, and then, because everything seemed almost too perfect, she doesn’t get the fellowship and then she ends up in Bluebell, Alabama, the place where dreams come to die.

  


.

  


“This is Wade,” Lavon Hayes, NFL star turned mayor, because seriously, what is this town, tells her. “He lives in the carriage house across the water.”

“Wade? Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me.”

  


.

  


There’s a tiny shard of romance left in her heart so when she gets drunk and kisses Wade in his car she wonders for a second -- for a _second_ \-- if she just felt that spark that souls are rumoured to feel when they kiss. Of course, she’s a doctor and she’s also very drunk, so there’s two logical explanations.

But it’s good kissing him, he’s good at this, confident, easy, and she wouldn’t mind moving into the backseat --

“God, this town sucks,” she groans, leaning back to the dixie playing horn and banging her head on the overhead mirror.

“Welcome to Bluebell,” Wade tells her, grins.

  


.

  


Bluebell is -- well, think of the stereotypical Southern town and you’d be almost there. They’re reluctant to warm to Zoe at first, this New York doctor, surprise daughter of their beloved GP, wearer of shorts and flirty looks to the lawyer betrothed to Lemon Breeland.

But it’s just -- if the universe wanted Zoe to fully believe in the whole soul mate system, George Tucker’s name would be carved into her ribs, because he’s perfect for her.

But there’s Lemon, and there’s Wade, who she eats breakfast with every morning and who drives her crazy and who makes her laugh every once in awhile.

  


.

  


Being a family doctor means getting involved in people’s lives, as reluctant as Zoe may be to do that. But they're kind, when they warm up to her, and they're friendly, and it's easy to become used to these people she never ever would've found in New York.

Being a family doctor means people confide in you things that they wouldn't tell anyone else. It also means that, during examinations, Zoe is privy to those in Bluebell who have marks and those who don’t. When she was on the path to being a surgeon, seeing those small tattoos on patients’ skin meant nothing to her, but here, as she grows to care for and invest in the people of Bluebell, she realises that there’s a little bit of curiosity when she asks patients to remove a top, or a sock, or a skirt, and they become shy, quick to cover their mark with their hand to stop Zoe seeing. She realises that she’s invested a little more in this system when she knows the people involved.

  


.

  


“I’m fifteen and I still don't have a mark,” Rose says, feet swinging from the table. “Do you think it could come in this late?”

“Rose, having a mark is more trouble than it's worth. It's not important and it doesn't have any sway in who you like --

“You mean _you_ have one, Zoe?” Rose squeals, eyes wide. “Oh, that's so romantic! Do you know who it is? Have you met them? Do they live here?”

“Woah, slow down. I’m answering none of those questions,” and then she flashes a quick smile at Rose to cover the inner horror at the reactions of the town should they find out. “You shouldn’t hold back on asking out Frederick Dean just because you’re not his soulmate, it doesn’t always work out like how you thought it would.”

“Are you speaking from personal experience?” Rose asks innocently.

“Don’t push it.”

  


.

  


The heat wave drenches Zoe in sweat, engulfing her in a heat she never experienced in New York. She walks outside, fully intending to complain to Lavon about his lack of air conditioning but she walks out and _oh_ \--

Wade emerges from the lake like some kind of wannabe James Bond and Zoe hates the way her mouth fills up with saliva, eyes tracking his muscles as he pushes his hair back. He’s an attractive man, she can admit that, she’s allowed to look.

“Enjoying the show, Doc?” Wade calls, shaking like a dog to get dry. “You’re welcome to come see if it’s as good as it looks,” throws her a wink, and suddenly Zoe can speak again, if only to argue back.

“I’ll try and restrain myself,” she yells, turning to Lavon’s door but as she does she catches the tiny writing on the dip of Wade’s hip. She squints, tries to make it out, it’s definitely small enough to be her name, but he notices her looking, tugs his shorts up.

“Find something to read?” he says and then he looks at her like he knows exactly what she’s thinking. She adjusts her own top even though there’s no way her plaster-covered _Wade_ could be peeking out and his eyes widen. “Zoe --”

“This heat isn’t natural,” she snaps, turning on her heel and letting the door fall closed behind her, trapping Wade, his abs, and that unreadable expression outside.

“Are you okay, Z?” Lavon says, dropping a muffin onto her plate. “The heat making you crazy?”

And hey, Bluebell uses the heat wave as an excuse to shirk the rest of their emotions and responsibilities so why can’t she?

  


.

 

What happens, though, is this: Zoe’s leaning in to Wade, his lips are right there, she can see how much he wants this, how much she wants to give in, surrender to the universe, but then she stops, because, yes, she thinks she does want to give this a try, see if the universe has it right, but not under the circumstances of this crazy heat wave excuse, so she pulls back, lets Wade’s sigh hit her, and says, no, sorry, she can’t, not tonight.

In the stories she read when she was younger, hidden under the covers from her logic logic logic father, a thread throughout the soulmate love stories was the unbearable pull towards the other. Zoe’s beginning to understand that.

She kisses Wade’s cheek, even that brush of lips in the charged environment sending a thrill down her back, and she returns to her carriagehouse to the company of popcorn, sweats, and a stack of indie rom-coms where the girl doesn’t always end up with the name inscribed on her.

She wallows for a couple of days, feeling stupid and self-pitying the whole time, until she forces herself to go to the Rammer Jammer, to face up to her feelings; Wade makes a comment about her shorts, she throws one back about his stench, and Zoe feels steady on her feet again.  

  


.

  


“What are your thoughts on soulmates?” Lavon asks over pastries, brow furrowed, crumbs down his shirt.

Zoe blinks, avoids looking in Wade’s direction. “Don’t believe in them,” she says, hopes she pulls off the nonchalance she was aiming for.

“Really?” Wade asks, leaning on the counter beside her, his sleeves pushed up over his forearms, skin tan, and -- what was he saying? “Not at all?”

“Don’t tell me _you_ do, Mr Sleeps with Half the Town?

“Make an honest man of me, doc, and make me Mr Sleeps with Zoe Hart?” he simpers, hand on his chest. “You don’t believe you and Goldenboy Tucker are meant to be?”

“I think,” Zoe argues, pulling up the reasoning she’s built for herself during sleepless nights, “that George and I being so compatible proves my theory that soulmates are meaningless.”

“So he’s not yours?” Wade checks, does that lazy grin. “Good to know.”

“Not everyone has one,” Lavon points out. “It’s supposed to be a true sign.”

“Yeah,” Zoe says. “ _Supposed_ to be, doesn’t mean it’s right. Anyway, surely in a town as small as Bluebell there aren’t any secrets about who has one.”

But Lavon shakes his head. “It’s a private thing. People respect that."

“Why are you even asking?” Wade frowns. “You've never mentioned one before.”

“Just something I’ve been thinking about,” he says. “Lemon and George’s wedding -- Lavon Hayes knows there’s someone out there for him.”

“Well, I ain’t losing sleep over mine,” Wade says, gulping down his coffee as he meets Zoe’s eye. “They know what they’re missing out on.”

  


.

  


Even without the mark on her ribs, there's no way she can deny there's something between her and Wade. There had been the heat wave free pass moment, the constant flirting and touching, the camaraderie and closeness borne from breakfast at Lavon’s, but still Zoe pursues things with George, determined to make her own destiny.

It comes out about Lemon and Lavon’s affair (and geez, Zoe thought New York was where the drama was at but bring a film crew to small town Alabama and you'll get everything you need right here) and George gets a hard lesson in relearning all the things you thought you knew about the person you think you love.

Zoe sits beside Wade in Lavon’s kitchen, listens to Lavon’s pain about where to go from here, and feels nothing more than an ache for a hurt friend for everyone involved. That’s when she decides, okay, she won’t actively seek out Wade but she won’t avoid or deny it any longer.

  


.

  


It all comes to a head after a storm and the wedding that goes ahead as planned, Wade in a suit, Zoe waiting by the door. He kisses her, slowly, carefully, all of his intentions laid out on the table, and Zoe pours herself into it, arms around his neck, body pressed close.

He eases an orgasm out of her first once, then twice, his head between her legs, her hand curled in his hair, and then, well, the universe was right when she said they’d be good together.

  


.

  


The next morning Zoe opens her eyes and wonders for a beat why she’s feeling so content, the feeling deep in her bones, dampening a thrumming she never noticed until it was gone. Her answer lies beside her, arm flung across her, face soft in sleep. She watches Wade for a second, bites back a grin at the way his nose wrinkles, because, God, Zoe, you’re only slightly giving into the system, not going the whole way.

But, since he’s naked in her bed, she might as well have a little fun with it. She kisses his shoulder, his collarbone, and then cranes her neck to kiss his nose. It wrinkles again, a tiny dent appearing in the middle, and Zoe gives up any pretence. This thing between them has been bubbling for months, it’s what they’ve been waiting for, and oh, was it worth the wait.

She makes the decision, as Wade slowly blinks awake, that she’ll humour the universe for a bit. The sex last night was, and she’ll keep this from him for a while or else he’ll be insufferable, the best she’s ever had so she sees no reason why she should restrict herself on that front.

This decision in mind, when Wade opens his eyes, realises that she’s there, Zoe kisses him and feels his smile against her lips. See? This is what they need.

  
  


.

  
  


“What’s this?” Wade asks after round two, fingers the plaster on Zoe’s ribs that’s peeling off around the edges. “Is this your mark?”

Zoe sighs. He’s going to find out eventually and she has her whole sex-only plan set up and ready to go so she nods, nods again when he raises an eyebrow. He’s a polite Southern boy about this, won’t go unveiling it if she doesn’t want him to, and that’s sweet.

He peels off the plaster that’s been covering her mark for all those years, the skin ridiculously pale underneath compared to her Alabama tan, and then it’s off, everything out there to see, and Zoe holds her breath.

She can’t describe the fluttering in her stomach, the feeling of almost unbearable lightness as Wade looks at his name taking up an inch of Zoe’s skin. He looks up at her, a small smile curling around his lips, and he looks so open here, so young, that her heart aches, feels the urge to make garbled laments of wishing she had come here sooner, but that’s not them, so she settles for smiling, for finding his hand and squeezing, and that’s enough.

Wade raises himself onto his elbow to show his hip. Zoe has been pretty certain about their match for a while now but there’s still something in seeing her handwriting, her _name_ , on Wade’s body, written there years and years ago when she never thought about Alabama and had dreams to be a heart surgeon. It makes everything feel so much more real and for a second she feels overwhelmed, especially when Wade looks at her and wants so much more than what she’s ready to give.

“So, what happens now?”

Which sets the scene perfectly for a conversation Zoe doesn’t want to have.

  


.

  


The thing is, okay, and please don’t judge her -- the sex is really good. There’s a reason Wade has half the women in Bluebell wrapped around his goddamn finger and it has something to do with the other things he can do with his mouth aside from smirking.

“This isn’t ever happening again,” she says in the morning, she says every morning, because this is a charade she’s playing with herself.

And, god, look at him, lying back in her bed, arms behind his head, so smug. “So you keep saying, doc, and yet here we are -- the universe says so.”

“The universe isn't telling me what to do,” and then she looks at his body, at the goddamn smirk, and she rolls her eyes at herself and settles back on his hips, leaning down and kissing him before he brings up their _destiny_ again.

  


.

  


“I’ve been thinking about us,” Wade announces when he enters her room, beer in hand.

Zoe, basing it on their very imaginative sex life, happily goes to meet him, tugging off his shirt as she fumbles with her zip of her skirt. It’s been a long day, she’s been thinking about this moment since before lunch when she was treating Mrs Halpert for a rash, which, please, is not related.

She moves to his belt, “I’ve had some ideas too -- how do you feel about fire?”

“As much as I love where this is going, Doc, and I do love fire, I meant us as in --” and he points to her name on his hip. “-- this.”

“But we’ve been over this, Wade.”

He dumps the beer on the table, places his hands on her hips, and then he opens his mouth and all of a sudden knows exactly what he’s going to say. Instead, she takes the coward’s way out and kisses him, really lays it on, which he goes for, because he’s Wade, but then he’s pulling away again, insistent on being heard.

“Why are you fighting this, Zo?” His voice is quiet, accent strong, and Zoe, betrayed by that half of her soul, feels her resolve slipping, because why can’t they tell people? Why can’t they show people this private part of their lives and -- kind as Bluebell may be -- pass comment on them? She’s been sleeping with Wade for a couple of weeks now, people don’t even know, and already she’s sick of the comments about Wade’s reputation for sleeping around. She wants to keep this huge thing just between them for now, is that too much to ask?

“We have _nothing_ in common,” Zoe says instead, arms spread wide to get her point across.

Which Wade sees as an invite to step closer, kiss down her neck, which they both know is an unfair tactic. “I think, now that I’ve trained you, we’re very good at this together.”

“I was always good -- stop that.” She leans into him, ridiculously attracted to his muscles, his tan, his walking talking Alabama body. “Look, Wade, I like what we’re doing. I really like you and I want to keep it private for now.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t, you know --” leaves off _date_.

“Wade, I’m your soulmate,” which is the first time either of them have said it so explicitly. “I’m going nowhere but first, can we have a little time to enjoy all of this first before we jump into everything else?”   


And, because she’s not blind and because Lavon is very observant, she knows that he loves her and that he’s doing this for her, and, okay, she can totally see those flimsy walls holding up her last remaining reservations coming tumbling down very soon.

But, for now, they flip back to their easy, casual, set-up, free of preordained connections. Zoe squeals when Wade picks her up, throws her over his shoulder with one hand, and grabs the beer with the other. He carries her into the bedroom, drops her with a thud on the bed, and then he stretches out on top of her, calm as you please, and kisses her.

Not to get carried away, but in moments like these, Zoe’s heart is so full, her body thrumming with want, that she climbs right on board and sees that of course her and Wade are meant to be, who else could ever make her feel like this?

  


.

  


“I heard Wade’s got a secret girlfriend,” Rose tells Zoe as they sit down in the corner of the Rammer Jammer.

“Where’d you hear that?” Zoe asks, studies her menu because Rose has always been a little harder to hide things from.

“Dash’s blog. Duh,” Rose replies. “So, what do you know about it?”

“Me? Nothing. Why would you think I know anything?”

Rose rolls her eyes. “Because he’s your neighbour? Are you okay, Zoe?”

Who chooses the wrong moment to glance over Rose’s shoulder at Wade who’s cleaning glasses and talking to Wanda. And then, to really get them in it, when Rose turns to see who she’s looking at, Wade winks at Zoe, Rose gasps, and that’s that.

“You and Wade?” she hisses across the table. “Since when?”

“Not long,” Zoe says, fiddles with the menu. “Three months,” she adds, the number surprising herself because it hasn’t felt that long.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rose asks -- she’s about to look hurt and Zoe’s about to feel guilty, but she gasps again. “Is Wade your soulmate?”

“ _Shh_!”

Rose’s face blooms with glee just as Wade reaches their table. “What can I get you, ladies?”

“ _Guys_ \--” she garbles before Zoe cuts her off.

“Two burgers please, Wade,” raising an eyebrow at him and tilting her head slightly at Rose, desperately hoping this soul thing extends to mind-reading.

If it does, Wade ignores her mind signals. “Rose, you’ve heard our news,” he drawls, smirking at Zoe who rolls her eyes and sits back.

“This is so romantic,” Rose sighs, hand propping up her chin as she gazes at them. “Please please tell me everything.”

“I’m not sure the doc’s actions are suitable for your ears, Rose,” Wade says, grinning and stepping neatly out the way of Zoe’s kick. “Two burgers coming up.”

“Give me an update on Frederick Dean,” Zoe says, well-versed in the all-consuming emotions of teenage love. It works, with a pointed look from Rose that she’ll be getting all of the details later before she rushes into describing the way Frederick Dean had held the door open for her yesterday and what that could mean.

  


.

  


It becomes a sort of running joke, if running jokes are both annoying and make your heart go funny and make you overthink everything.

But what happens is this: Zoe and Wade hang out, they have sex, they have fun -- listen, they’re basically dating -- but then Zoe gets all caught up on the soulmate thing again, leaves, tries to avoid Wade for a couple of days, and then has sex with him, laughs at his jokes, feels happy, and forgets this was all preordained by the universe again.

“Zoe, come on,” Wade sighs while they’re sitting on his porch, nursing beers and comparing childhoods. Zoe hasn’t been home in three days -- half of Wade’s closet has her clothes in it, her toiletries clutter up his cabinet. “Tattooed names aside, we’re good together.”

Zoe narrows her eyes, shifts closer to him under the blanket because, if you can believe it, cold nights do exist in Alabama. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, Zoe, that we could deny this and date other people and make it more dramatic and drawn out than it has to be,” which, even if it’s something Zoe’s been thinking about herself, feels like a lot, but it also doesn’t feel like too much. “Or, you could finally agree that the universe must have been right.”

“When I first met you I thought the universe was fucking with me,” Zoe admits. She kisses his cheek, grins when he does that smile that tells her exactly how he feels. “You weren’t in my plan.”

“I’ve been in your plan for life, babe,” Wade argues, which God, yes is true.

“Okay, you weren’t what _I_ had planned for me.”

“Well, doc, a snobby New Yorker wasn’t what I had planned for me.”

“ _Wade_ ,” Zoe whines. “I’m not snobby anymore.”

“No, you’re not,” he admits. “Bluebell’s changed you.”

She puts her beer down, takes his as well, and then she maneuvers herself into his lap. She cards a hand through his hair, pushing it back, his head tilted up to look at her. A moment ticks past, both of them gazing at each other; it feels heavy, the weight of their souls pressed against them, but it’s a comforting weight.

“You’ve changed me, Zoe,” Wade murmurs. “You make me want to be better.”

And that’s how Zoe feels. To have someone who she can see a future with, who she enjoys, as crazy as he makes her, has made her want to do the best she can with her life. It’s in this quiet moment, her hand on his cheek, his on her hip, that she says, “Okay, I’m all in, Wade.”

Wade smiles, that one Zoe loves, the one that fills his eyes and is contagious with its joy.

  


.

  


The town buzzes with the news that not only are Wade Kinsella and Zoe Hart dating, they’re _soulmates_ , isn’t it amazing? Isn’t it adorable?

“I wouldn’t call it adorable, Wanda,” Wade says, rolling his eyes at Zoe.

“ _I_ would,” Dash pipes up from the table next to the bar, because no one can have a private conversation in Bluebell. “I always knew it.”

“No you didn’t, Dash,” Zoe says. “You were all for me going after George.”

“Oh, that was for the drama, Zoe, but I know true love when I see it.”

That gets an _aww_ from the Rammer Jammer who then start clanging their glasses and chanting _kiss kiss kiss_ like they’re in sixth grade. Zoe’s about to put a stop to it when Wade leans over the bar and kisses her forehead, the gesture so sweet that Zoe’s resulting grin gets an even bigger _aww._

  


.

  


Lavon, while happy for them, has grievances to air before he gives them his official blessing.

“You mean that conversation we had awhile ago -- the one where I opened my heart --”

“No you didn't.”

“It was implied,” Lavon argues. “But you and Wade were standing there with each other's names and no one said anything?”

“Yes,” Zoe says. “That's exactly what happened.”

“And then it took another four months for something to actually happen?”

“Also correct.”

“You guys are idiots,” which, _hey_.

“You’ve known we’ve been sleeping together for ages, Lavon,” Zoe points out.

“No, this is different,” and he’s right, so she doesn’t argue anymore. She goes to apologise but then he opens his mouth again, says, “I feel partly responsible for bringing you to together, living in my house.”

“It’s small town, man,” Wade says, coming through the door. “I think we’d have met eventually.”

“Plus the whole soulmate thing,” Zoe offers. She’s finding it’s becoming less and less overwhelming the more she says it. So her and Wade have been planned since they were thirteen. She didn’t let it dictate her life, she let the attraction build in its own way, fighting it every step of the way, and when things progressed it felt right, easy, and on their own terms, the whole matching souls thing feeling like an appendix. “I think we’d have found our way to each other through that,” and that makes Wade, surprisingly into the whole thing, beam.

On his way back out to pick up paint for Zoe’s bedroom, Wade pulls her close and, “Lavon, if you wouldn’t mind averting your eyes, I’m about to kiss my woman goodbye,” which he does, to Lavon’s half-assed groan of disgust and to Zoe’s giddy laughter when he leaves.

“I’m the mayor,” Lavon says, petulant. “I should be in love like that.”

  


.

  


“I thought soulmates were boring,” Wade says quietly, his arm around Zoe’s shoulders, his gaze on the TV. “Where's the fun in flirting and sleeping around when you have a tattoo on your hip of your ‘perfect match,’” he lifts a hand to do air-quotes, hand warm when it drops back onto her shoulder, “but then you came along and you were crazy and hot and annoying and it made more sense.”

“Crazy, hot, _and_ annoying?” Zoe lifts her head from his shoulder to look at him. There's something settled on his face that she knows is mirrored in her own. “That's the trifecta."

“I know how to pick ‘em, babe,” Wade says, because they're getting very good at balancing the goofy with the serious.

“I think,” Zoe starts, voicing all of the things she's been thinking for a while, “that we would have made it here even without your name etched on my ribs. Sure, it might have taken longer and it would have a been a whole lot messier, but I think you're right, Wade Kinsella, we know how to pick ‘em."

“We might have nothing in common but there was no way the universe or Lavon -- who, actually, could be the same thing -- would let two people of our physique get away without banging.”

“You're full of shit, sweetie,” Zoe says, as she tilts her head up and kisses him, leaning into it when his hand curves around her waist and pulls her closer. God, she really does love him, and isn't that something?

 

 


End file.
